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which rage in the world, but most of all in his own breast; and therefore, being tossed between the waves thereof, that roll continually within and without him, he leads a restless and disordered life, until he be at last swallowed up in the unavoidable gulf of death, It is, moreover, the shame and folly of the human, race, that the greatest part of them do not resolve upon any fixed and settled method of life, but, like the brute creatures, live and die without design, and without proposing any reasonable end. For how few are there, who seriously and frequently consider with themselves whence they come, whither they are going, and what is the purpose of their life; who are daily reviewing the state of their own minds, and often descend into themselves, that they may as frequently ascend, by their thoughts and meditations, to their exalted Father and their heavenly country, who take their station upon temporal things, and view these that are eternal! Yet, these are the only men that can be truly said to live, and they alone can be accounted wise.

And to this it is, my dear youths, that I would willingly engage your souls; nay, I heartily wish they were carried thither by the fiery chariots of celestial wisdom. Let the common sort of mankind admire mean things; let them place their hopes on riches, honours, and arts, and spend their lives in the pursuit of them; but let your souls be inflamed with a far higher ambition. Yet I would not altogether prohibit you these pursuits: I only desire you to be moderate in them. These enjoyments are neither great in themselves, nor permanent; but it is surprising how much vanity is inflated by them. What a conceited vain nothing is the creature we call man. For, because few are capable to discern true blessings, which are solid and intrinsically beautiful, therefore the superficial ones, and such as are of no value at all, are catched at; and those who in any measure attain to the possession of them, are puffed up and elated thereby.

If we consider things as they are, it is an evidence of a very wrong turn of mind, to boast of titles and fame; as they are no part of our selves, nor can we depend upon them. But he that is elevated with a fond conceit of his own knowledge is a stranger to the nature of things, and particularly to himself, since he knows not that the highest pitch of human knowledge ought in reality rather to be called ignorance. How small and inconsiderable is the extent of our knowledge! Even the most contemptible things in nature are sufficient to expose the greatness of our ignorance. And, with respect to Divine things, who dares to deny that the knowledge mankind has of them is next to nothing? Because the weak eyes of our understanding, confined, as they are, within such narrow houses of clay, cannot bear the piercing light of Divine things; therefore the Fountain

of all wisdom hath thought proper to communicate such imperfect discoveries of Himself, as are barely sufficient to direct our steps to the superior regions of perfect light. And whoever believes this truth will doubtless make it his chief care and principal study constantly to follow the lamp of Divine light that shines in darkness, and not to deviate from it, either to the right hand or the left. It is indeed my opinion that no man of ingenuity ought to despise the study of philosophy, or the knowledge of languages, or grammar itself; though to be sure, a more expeditious and successful method of teaching them were much to be wished. But what I would recommend with the greatest earnestness, and persuade you to, if possible, is, that you would inseparably unite with such measures of learning and improvement of your minds as you can attain, purity of religion, Divine love, moderation of soul, and an agreeable, inoffensive behaviour. For you are not ignorant what a low and empty figure the highest attainments in human sciences must make, if they be compared with the dignity and duration of the soul of man; for, however con'siderable they may be in themselves, yet, with regard to their use and their whole design, they are confined within the short space of your perishing life. But the soul, which reasons, which is employed in learning and teaching, in a few days will for ever bid farewell to all these things, and remove to another country. Oh, how inconsiderable are all arts and sciences, all eloquence and philosophy, when compared with a cautious concern that our last exit out of this world may be happy and auspicious, and that we may depart out of this life candidates of immortality, at which we can never arrive but by the beautiful way of holiness.

Amidst these amusements we are unhappily losing a day. Yet some part of the weight of this complaint is removed, when we consider that, while the greatest part of mankind are bustling in crowds, and places of traffic, or, as they would have us believe, in affairs of great importance, we are trifling our time more innocently than they. But what should hinder us from closing this last scene in a serious manner, that is, from turning our eyes to more divine objects, whereby, though we are fatigued with other matters, we may terminate the work of this day and the day itself agreeably; as the beams of the sun use to give more than ordinary delight when he is near his setting?

You are now initiated into the philosophy, such as it is, that prevails in the schools, and, I imagine, intend, with all possible despatch, to apply to higher studies. But oh! how pitiful and scanty are all those things which beset us before, behind, and on every side! The bustling we see is nothing but the hurrying of ants eagerly engaged in their little labours. The mind must

surely have degenerated, and forgotten its original as effectually as if it had drunk of the river Lethe, if, extricating itself out of all these mean concerns and designs, as so many snares laid for it, and rising above the whole of this visible world, it does not return to its Father's bosom, where it may contemplate His eternal beauty, where contemplation will inflame love, and love be crowned with the possession of the beloved object. But, in the contemplation of this glorious object, how great caution and moderation of mind is necessary, that, by prying presumptuously into His secret councils, or His nature, and rashly breaking into the sanctuary of light, we be not quite involved in darkness! And, with regard to what the infinite, independent, and necessarily-existent Being has thought proper to communicate to us concerning Himself, and we are concerned to know, even that is by no means to be obscured by curious, impertinent questions, nor perplexed with the arrogance of disputation; because by such means, instead of enlarging our knowledge, we are in the fair way to know nothing at all; but readily to be received by humble faith, and entertained with meek and pious affections. And if, in these notices of Him, that are communicated to us, we meet with anything obscure, and hard to be understood, such difficulties will be happily got over, not by perplexed controversies, but by constant and fervent prayer. "He will come to understand," says, admirably well, the famous Bishop of Hippo, "who knocks by prayer, not he who, by quarrelling, makes a noise at the gate of truth." But what can we, who are mortal creatures, understand with regard to the inexpressible Being we now speak of, especially while we sojourn in these dark prisons of clay, but only this, that we can by no means comprehend Him? For though, in thinking of Him, we remove from our idea all sort of imperfection, and collect together every perceivable perfection, and adore the whole with the highest titles, we must, after all, acknowledge that we have said nothing, and that our conceptions are nothing to the purpose. Let us, therefore, in general acknowledge Him to be the immovable Being that moveth everything; the immutable God that changeth all things at His pleasure; the infinite and eternal fountain of all good, and of all existence, and the Lord and sole ruler of the world.

If you then, my dear youths, aspire to genuine Christianity, that is, the knowledge of God and divine things, I would have you consider that the mind must first be recalled, and engaged to turn in upon itself before it can be raised up towards God, according to that expression of St Bernard, "May I return from external things to those that are within myself, and from these again rise to those that are of a more exalted nature." But the greatest part of men live abroad, and are, truly, strangers at home; you may sooner find them anywhere than with themselves. Now is not this real madness, and the highest degree of insensibility? Yet, after all, they seem to have some reason in their madness, when they thus stray away from themselves, since they can see nothing within themselves that, by its promising aspect, can give them pleasure or delight. Everything that is ugly, frightful, and full of nastiness, which they would rather be ignorant of than be at the pains to purge away; and therefore prefer a slothful forgetfulness of their misery to the trouble and labour of regaining happiness. But how preposterous is the most diligent study and the highest knowledge when we neglect that of ourselves! The Roman philospher, ridiculing the grammarians of his time, observes, "that they inquired narrowly into the misfortunes of Ulysses, but were quite ignorant of their own.' The sentiments of a wise and pious man are quite different, and I wish you may adopt them. It is his principal care to be thoroughly acquainted with himself, he watches over his own ways, he improves and cultivates his heart as a garden-nay, a garden consecrated to the King of kings, who takes particular delight in it; he carefully nurses the heavenly plants and flowers, and roots up all the wild and noxious weeds, that he may be able to say, with the greatest confidence, "Let my beloved come into His own garden, and be pleased to eat of His fruits." And when, upon this invitation, the great King, in the fulness of His goodness, descends into the mind, the soul may then easily ascend with Him, as it were, in a chariot of fire, and look down upon the earth, and all earthly things, with contempt and disdain. Then rising above the rainy regions, it sees the storms falling beneath its feet, and tramples upon the hidden thunder.

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RICHARD BAXTER.

RIGHT REJOICING.*

615-1691.

THE soul is active and will be doing, and there is nothing that it is more naturally inclined to than delight. Something or other which may be suitable to it, and sufficient to answer its desires, it fain would be rejoicing in. And the spiritual part of all our mercies is pure and refined, and too subtle for the discerning of our carnal minds, and therefore is invisible to the dark ungodly world; and, also, it is contrary to the interest of the flesh, and to the present bent of man's concupiscence; and therefore it is that spiritual mercies are not perceived nor relished by the flesh, yea, that they are refused as food by a sick stomach with enmity and loathing, as if they were judgments or plagues, and not mercies; and hence it is that a carnal mind doth as unwillingly accept of any mercies of this sort as if it were some heavy service that made God almost beholden to Him to accept them. But the objects of sense, the matters of commodity, or honour, or sensual pleasure, are such as the worst of men are more eager after than any other; they are things that flesh itself doth savour and can judge of, and is naturally now too much in love with. And, therefore, there being so much of this concupiscence yet within us, the best have need so to be excited to the spiritual part of their rejoicing, as to be warned and called off from the carnal part. Our successes and our other common mercies have all of them both a carnal and a spiritual part, somewhat that is suited to our bodies, and somewhat to our souls. And as we are all too prone to be sensible and regardful of our bodily affairs and interests, and too insensible and neglectful of the matters of our souls; so we can easily pick out so much of providences and mercies as gratify and accommodate our flesh, and there we would stop and know no more, as if we had no spiritual part to mind, nor the mercy of any spiritual part to be improved. To rejoice in mere prosperity and success may be done without grace by pride and sensuality, as easily as a drunkard can be merry with his cups, or any other sinner in his sin. Think it not needless, then, to hear this admonition; take heed that you rejoice not carnally in the carcase or outside only of your mercies, as such an outside religion, consisting in the shell of duty, without God, who is the life and kernel, is not religion indeed, but an hypocritical self-deceiv

* Part of a Sermon preached at St Paul's, before the Corporation of London, May 10, 1660, the day of thanksgiving for the Restoration of Charles IL

ing show, so you may turn a day of thanksgiving into a day of fleshly mirth, more sinful than a morris-dance or May-game, because of the aggravation of conjunct hypocrisy if you set not a faithful guard upon your hearts.

For the rectifying, therefore, and elevating of your joys, I am first to tell you that there is a matter of far greater joy before you than all the successes or prosperity of the world; and if it be not, yet being freely offered you, your acceptance may quickly make it such. Eternal joy and glory is at hand; the door is open, the promise is sure, the way made plain, the helps are many, and safe, and powerful; you may have the conduct of Christ, and the company of thousands (though the smaller number), if you will go this way; there are passengers every day going on and entering in; many that were here the last year are this year in heaven, yea, many that were yesterday on earth are in heaven to-day. It is another kind of assembly and solemnity than this that they are now beholding, and you may behold. One strain of that celestial melody doth afford more ravishing sweetness and delight than all that ever earth could yield. If a day in God's courts here be better than a thousand in common employments or delights, then surely a day in heaven is better than ten thousand. That is the court, and (except the church, which is a garden that hath some celestial plants, and is a seminary or nursery for heaven), this world is the dunghill. There all is spiritual, pure, and perfect, the soul, the service, and the joy; but here they are all so mixed with flesh, and therefore so imperfect and impure, that we are afraid of our very comforts, and are fain, upon the review, to sorrow over many of our joys.

We come now from cares and troubles to our feasts; and our wedding garments smell of the smoke; and a secret disquietness in the midst o our delights doth tell us that the root of our troubles doth remain, and that yet we are not where we should be, and that this is not our resting-place. We lay by our cares and sorrows on these days with our old clothes, to take them up again to-morrow, and alas! they are our ordinary week-day habits; and it were well it were only so; but even in laughter the hear is sorrowful; and in our sweetest joys we feel such imperfections as threateneth a relapse unto our former troubles. But the face of God admitteth no such imperfections in the joy of the beholders; there we shall have joy without either feeling or fear of sorrow, and praises without any mixtures of complaint. sweetest love to the Lord of love will feel no

Our

bounds and fear no end. Oh! what unspeakable delights will fill that soul that now walks mournfully, and feedeth upon complaints and tears! How the glory of God will make that face to shine for ever that now looks too dejectedly, and is darkened with griefs and worn with fears, and daily wears a mourning visage! No trouble can enter into the heavenly Jerusalem, nor is there a mournful countenance in the presence of our King. Self troubling was the fruit of sin and weakness, of ignorance, mistakes, and passion, and, therefore, is unknown in heaven, being pardoned and laid by with our flesh among the rest of our childish weaknesses and diseases. That poor, afflicted, wounded soul, that breathes in trouble as its daily air, and thinks it is made up of grief and fear, shall be turned into love and joy, aud be unspeakably higher in those heavenly delights than ever it was low in sorrow.

if

beatifical vision and fruition, but also shall ourselves everlastingly behold and enjoy Him in perfection. That world all true believers see; they see it by faith in the holy glass which the spirit in the apostles and prophets hath set up; and they have the earnest and first fruits of it themselves, even that spirit by which they are sealed hereunto; that world we are ready to take possession of; we are almost there; we are but taking our leave of the inhabitants and affairs of earth, and better, putting on our heavenly robes, and we are presently there. A few nights more to stay on earth, a few words more to speak to the sons of men, a few more duties to perform, and a few more troublesome steps to pass, will be a small inconsiderable delay. This room will hold you now but an hour longer, and this world but a few hours more, but heaven will be the dwelling-place of saints to all eternity. These faces of flesh that O blessed face of the most glorious God! O we see to-day we shall see but a few times more, happy presence of our glorified! O blessed any; but the face of God we shall see for ever. beams of the eternal love, that will con- That glory no dismal times shall darken, that tinually shine upon us! O blessed work! to joy no sorrow shall interrupt, no sin shall forbehold, to love, to delight, and praise! Ofeit, no enemy shall endanger or take from us, blessed company of holy angels, and perfect no changes shall ever dispossess us of. And saints, so perfectly united, so exactly seated, to should not a believer then rejoice that his name concord in those felicitating works; where all is written in heaven? and that every providence these are what sorrow can there be? what relics wheels him on? and whether the way be fair or of distress, or smallest scars of our ancient foul it is thither that he is travelling? O sirs! wounds? Had I but one such friend as the if heaven be better than vanity and vexation; if meanest angel in heaven to converse with, how endless joy be better than the laughter of a child easily could I spare the courts of princes, the that ends in crying; and if God be better than popular concourse, the learned academies, and a delusory world, you have then greater matters all that the world accounteth pleasure, to live in set before you to be the matter of your joy than the sweet and secret converse of such a friend! prosperity and success, or anything that flesh How delightfully should I hear him discourse of and blood delights in. the ravishing love of God, of the glory of His face, the person of our Redeemer, the continued union of the glorified human nature with the divine, and of the Head, with all the glorified members, and His influences on His imperfect ones below! of the dignity, quality, and work of saints and angels, and of the manner of their mutual converse. How gladly would I retire from the noise of laughter, the compliments of comic gallants, the clatter and vain glory of a distracted world, or any of the more mainly inferior delights, to walk with one such heavenly companion! O how the beams of his illuminated intellect would promote my desired illumination, and the flames of his love to the most glorious God would reach my heart; what life and heavenly sweetness there would be in all his speeches; that little of heaven that I have perceived on some of the servants of the Lord, that are conversant above in the life of faith, doth make them more amiable, and their converse much more delectable to me than all the feastings, music, or merriments in the world. O then what a world of joy and glory will that be, where we shall not only converse with them that have seen the Lord, and are perfect in the

NOW OR NEVER.

O

We are constrained oft to fear lest there be much wrong in us, that should more seriously preach the awakening truths of God unto men's hearts. And verily our consciences cannot but accuse us, that when we are most lively and serious, alas, we seem but almost to trifle, considering on what a message we come, and of what transcendent things we speak. But Satan hath got his advantage upon our hearts that should be instrumental to kindle theirs; as well as on theirs that should receive the truth. that we could thirst more after their salvation ! O that we could pray harder for it, and entreat them more earnestly, as those that were loth to take a denial from God or man! I must confess to you all with shame and sorrow, that I am even amazed, to think of the hardness of my own heart that melteth no more in compassion to the miserable, and is no more earnest and importunate with sinners, when I am upon such a subject as this, and am telling them that it must be now or never; and when the messengers of death within, and the fame of men's displeasure from

without, doth tell me how likely it is that my time shall be but short, and if I will say anything that may reach the heart of sinners, for aught I know, it must be now or never. Oh, what an obstinate, what a lamentable disease is this insensibility, and hardness of heart. If I were sure that this were the last sermon that ever I should preach, I find now my heart would show its sluggishness, and rob poor souls of the serious fervour which is suitable to the subject and their case, and needful to the desired

success.

But yet, poor, sleepy sinners, hear us. Though we speak not to you as men would do that had seen heaven and hell, and were themselves in a perfectly awakened frame, yet hear us while we speak to you the words of truth with some seriousness and compassionate desire of your salvation. Oh, look up to your God! Look out unto eternity; look inward upon your souls; look wisely upon your short and hasty time; and then bethink you how the little remnant of your time should be employed; and what it is that most concerneth you to despatch and secure before you die. Now you have sermons, books, and warnings; it will not be so long. Preachers must have done; God threateneth them, and death threateneth them, and man threateneth them; and it is you, it is you that are most severely threatened, and that are called on by God's warnings: "If any man have an ear to hear, let him hear." Now, you have abundance of private helps; you have abundance of understanding, gracious companions; you have the Lord's day to spend in holy exercises, for the edification and solace of your souls; you have choice of sound and serious books; and, blessed be God, you have the protection of a Christian and a Protestant king and magistracy. Oh, what invaluable mercies are all these! Oh, know your time, and use these with industry; and improve this harvest for your souls. For it will not be thus always; it must be now or never.

You have yet time and leave to pray and cry to God in hope. Yet, if you have tongues and hearts, He hath a hearing ear; the Spirit of grace is ready to assist you. It will not be thus always; the time is coming when the loudest cries will do no good. Oh, pray, pray-poor, needy, miserable sinners, for it must be now or

never.

You have yet health and strength, and bodies fit to serve your souls; it will not be so always; languishing, and pains, and death are coming. Oh, use your health and strength for God, for it must be now or never.

Yet there are some stirrings of conviction in your consciences; you find that all is not well with you; and you have some thoughts or purposes to repent and be new creatures. There is some hope in this, that yet God hath not quite

forsaken you. Oh, trifle not, and stifle not the convictions of your consciences, but hearken to the witness of God within you. It must be now or never.

Would you not be loath to be left to the despairing case of many poor distressed souls, that cry out, "Oh, it is now too late! I fear my day of grace is past! God will not hear me now if I should call upon Him. He hath forsaken me, and given me over to myself. It is too late to repent, too late to pray, too late to think of a new life-all is too late!" This case is sad, but yet many of these are in a safer and better case than they imagine, and are but frightened by the tempter; and it is not too late while they cry out it is too late. But if you are left to cry in hell, "It is too late!" alas! how long and how doleful a cry and lamentation will it be.

O consider, poor sinner, that God knoweth the time and season of thy mercies! He giveth the spring and harvest in their season, and all His mercies in their season; and wilt thou not know thy time and season for love, and duty, and thanks to Him?

Consider, thy God who hath commanded thee thy work, hath also appointed thee thy time; and this is His appointed time. To-day, therefore, hearken to His voice, and see that thou harden not thy heart. He that bids thee repent, and work out thy salvation with fear and trembling, doth also bid thee do it now. Obey Him in the time, if thou wilt be indeed obedient. He best understandeth the fittest time. One would think, to men that have lost so much already, and loitered so long, and are so lamentably behindhand, and stand so near the bar of God and their everlasting state, there should be no need to say any more to persuade them to be up and doing. I shall add but this: you are never likely to have a better time. Take this, or the work will grow more difficult, more doubtful, if, through the just judgment of God, it become not desperate. If all this will not serve, but still you will loiter till time be gone, what can your poor friends do but lament your misery? The Lord knows, if we knew what words, what pains would tend to your awakening, and conversion, and salvation, we should be glad to submit to it; and we hope we should not think our labours, or liberties, or our lives too dear to promote so blessed and necessary a work. But if, when all is done that we can do, you will leave us nothing but our tears and moans for self-destroyers, the sin is yours, and the suffering shall be yours. If I can do no more, I shall leave this on record, that we took our time to tell you home, that serious diligence is necessary to your salvation, and that God is the rewarder of them that diligently seek Him, and that this was your day, your only day. It must be now or never!

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